Well Written Scars
by totheworld
Summary: Scars are marks left on the skin where a wound, burn, or sore has not healed quite completely. Most people don't want scars, but some need them. And theirs read "Mudblood" and "Bloodtraitor". M for mentions of suicide.


Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I know I don't.

Author's Note: The story's really short, which is something I'm not used to writing. And it's all in Draco's POV, which is something I always want to write and read in a D/Hr story. This story may be a real cliché, but I still needed to write it anyway. It's a treat to myself before classes start, which means I won't be able to write a fan fiction for a long time. Like, a year or two. I'm not really great at this but I definitely want to try my best and hope for a response. So please, don't forget to read and review.

Update: I didn't change it much so if you've read it already, it's okay not to. But if you still want to read it again, please do! I adjusted the rating, thinking that suicide isn't really a T rating/audience theme.

It's not easy to convince yourself to keep living when everything has been ripped from you. Believe me, I know. I wanted to end it all myself, I just didn't know how. I don't want to leave my parents without a son; I was the only hope they said they had left. They believed that if I continued school and proved myself to be a great wizard, our family name could be restored to its former glory. Of course, I didn't believe in that bullshit. Nevertheless, I did return to Hogwarts to finish my education, hoping to at least redeem myself to the people I've done wrong to. My efforts, true enough, failed and misunderstood. It only ignited their hatred on me more. It made me fall into depression and on the bathroom floor of the 8th years' dormitories, I cut letters on my forearm every night to remind me of how horrible I am and of how I should just die miserably.

Everything changed one night when she held my hand. As I felt her fingers intertwine with mine, it took me a minute to realize that, indeed, we were making physical contact; I was making physical contact with someone else. It wasn't the first time we did though; I remember that first one very clearly and it wasn't anything near as good as this. But, at the time, I felt uncomfortable at the shock of it and took my hand from her. I saw her put her hand on her lap afterwards, her eyes looking down; away from me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," she said, still looking down on her lap, "I- uh- Maybe- I should leave."

"Don't do that." I exclaimed, coughing a bit as I tried to sit up from my bed. Failing in my attempt, she placed her hand behind my head to support my fall back to laying down. The palm of her hand was warm on the back of my neck. I wanted her to keep her hand there, but like how I took my hand from hers, she hastily left my neck cold from the absence of her warmth.

"I really didn't mean to, Malfoy. I'm sorry I made you feel awkward." She looked at me this time. Her eyes showed to be apologetic and worried.

Why was she worried? Why was she even there? Why did she hold my hand in the first place? I had no clue. But I knew I didn't want her to leave me. I didn't want to be alone.

"Looks like I was the one who made things awkward, Granger. I should be the one apologizing to you." My eyes suddenly examined on her image. She wore the time-turner visibly around her neck. Her bushy brown hair was tamed with a thin black headband. Her skin glowed against the dark maroon sweater she sported. These details made me recognize that we were spending a length of time we're together without anyone else. I continued, "No man should take their hand away when a woman holds them so caringly."

Her eyes turned away from me again. Not that she mentioned she did, I would like to remember her possibly feeling shy at my sudden mushy statement. She looked at the foot of the bed, at the flowers and gifts my "admirers" had sent to me. Thanks to the bright lamp beside us, I could see her cheeks suddenly turning pink in the sudden darkening of the skies outside the infirmary's windows. An involuntary curve formed on the visible side of her lips. I smiled at the thought of making her feel the way I did, whatever feeling it may had been. However, I also remember it didn't take long when that curve turned to a straight line as she looked back at me again.

"Why did you then?" she asked, her facial expression unreadable.

Did I upset her? It looked like I did. Why didn't I just hold her hand back? Why am I being such an idiot? I want her to hold me again.

"I don't know. I'm sorry." I opened my hand and raised it high enough so she could see that I wanted to hold her hand again.

"You can't just ask to hold my hand when you declined from my offer earlier," she giggled slightly, probably in amusement of our situation, "that's not how it works.

I smiled again at her chuckles. She looked happy again. I liked seeing her happy; it made me feel happy too. Through the weeks we've shared in our stay back at Hogwarts, it's only when she's reading or when she's alone did I ever see her genuinely happy. She's been through a lot. I should know; I was surely one of those who inflicted her so much pain. For some odd reason, however, here she was, giggling at the awkwardness of our failed hand holding activity. She was staying with me as I was in pain and agony. Silence fell upon us again when I grabbed her hand on her lap.

Worried that she might shake my hand away, I told her, "Don't. It would make me feel better if we stayed like this for a while."

She gazed upon my hand, lightly pressed on top of hers. I saw her lick her lips as she placed my hand with hers on the bed, making it more comfortable for me. Her lips parted slightly as I motioned my fingers to be in between her fingers; my cold palm firmly placed on her tender one. Swiftly, she moved closer to me, placing the back of my hand on her cheek, her soft beautiful cheek. I found myself parting my lips as she kissed the back of my index finger. She caressed my wounded forearm with her free hand as she continued to look at me, just like how I needed her to.

After a few moments, I decided to close my eyes for a while, taking in a deep breath to get a memory of how lovely she smelled that moment. Her signature smell of apples and vanilla filled my nose, making my eyelids flutter a little. Her smell was as intoxicating as I imagined it. With my eyes still closed, I also paid extra attention on how her soft smooth skin felt against my rough scar-ry forearm. Another smile escaped my lips learning that she didn't mind brushing her "mudblood" scar against my skin long enough for me to actually read it. She didn't mind anything; she just wanted to comfort me.

"Are you happy now?" she asked, her thin fingers brushing my hair away from my forehead.

"I think I am. Thank you." I took her hand and kissed it, making her face blush once more.

As I let her hand go, I felt it stroke the newly formed scars I had on my forearm. I looked at the scars, like she probably did. She traced the letters that were formed by them. It stung a little, not from the pain of the wounds but from the dark mark slowly fading behind it. I knew a conversation about the reason why I was in the Hospital Wing would come up eventually. To my surprise though, it didn't; not a full conversation, not that night, at least. After tracing the whole of it, she only said,

"You're no blood traitor. You shouldn't have done this to yourself. Don't listen to anything they say. Everyone deserves a second chance when they ask for it. You can't kill yourself. You deserve to live as much as anybody else does."

A tear escaped from my eye as she sobbed the words out of her mouth. A few more followed as she kissed the back of my hand again and brushed her thumb on my cheek, wiping my silent tears. Someone cares for me. I thought to myself, trying to keep myself together in front of her. She cares about me. Hermione Granger. She wants me to stay alive. She leaned closer to give me a hug. We wrapped our arms around each other, and for the first time, I felt whole. She made me feel whole. She, who should be first in line for wanting me be brought to Azkaban, who should be the one to convince people that I should be killed or destroyed; she wanted me to live a second life.

"C'mon, it's late. Let's try to get some sleep." she whispered. I held her hand tighter, before she got the chance to pull it away.

"Don't leave me. Please stay." I pleaded, not even bothering about how I'm making a fool of myself. However, it worked. She stayed; she took of her time turner and placed it on the bedside drawer.

I scooted to the further side of the bed to give her some space to lie down; the tears finally stopped falling and started drying up off my cheeks. She nestled her forehead against my collarbone, her arms still wrapped around me as I heard her shoes fall audibly on the stone floor. I kissed the top of her head, placing a bit of her hair behind her ear so I could see her face. We looked at each other one more time.

"Thank you, Granger. I needed this. I needed you. I could've died if you didn't see me bleeding myself to death-"

"Hush, Malfoy. I'm not the one to thank. I should thank you, too. But let's save it for tomorrow. Okay?"

I've never felt so peaceful in my life. With my arms wrapped around Hermione Granger as the rain started melodically drop on the ground, I knew I was right on tract.

"Good night, Granger."

"Sweet dreams, Draco."

Author's Note: Thanks for reading up to the end. I know it's boring. And I think the ending's a little off. But whatever. I just had a dream similar to this, which is probably the reason why I wrote it this way. Read and review? x x


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